


Hurt

by IneffableAlien



Series: problematic behavior [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Elias Bouchard Being a Bastard, Gaslighting, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Manipulation, Masochism, Mental Health Issues, Reluctant Sadist, Sadism, Topping from the Bottom, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Victim Self-Blaming, belt beating, dubcon, takes place during season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25502287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableAlien/pseuds/IneffableAlien
Summary: Elias sees something in Jon that scares Jon, and Elias craves it.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: problematic behavior [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845439
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what to say about this strange genre-bending series except that a) it is very self-indulgent and b) my personal brand is Sad And Horny.
> 
> There are a LOT of metaphors intended here, as well as author projection. Read the tags.

_Would you like to hurt me, Jon?_

Even as he knew that any sense of safety was a myth in the Magnus Institute, still Jon considered this his sanctuary: tucked in tight between his desk and the walls of _his_ archives. He sat quietly, expression peaceful and hands loosely folded—all clear indicators to anyone who almost knew him that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

He was thinking about what had transpired last he was in Elias’s office. He did not want to be thinking about what had happened in Elias’s office.

That was not exactly true. What he wanted was to _not want_ to be thinking about it.

Jon was not repulsed by sex, nor was he naïve. That said, he did not have much interest in other people’s private habits, sexual or otherwise. His familiarity with the existence of kinks was passing, yet there was an ocean’s worth of levels of comprehension between knowing that some people like to be spanked (or what have you), versus ever actually having tried it.

But what happened with Elias had not been “kink,” had it?

Jon was an adult. Obviously he knew what a “safeword” was. And for all that he didn’t know about fetish etiquette and the like, he was of course still the kind of man who took the value of gaining consent and giving respect as givens. So Jon knew that when he had been sexually assaulted in his boss’s office, and then Jon had insanely _chosen to stay_ and play some titillating game with his own attacker, that this did not fall under the constraints of standard kink practices. To say the least.

Wait. No. Jon knew he had not been truly assaulted, for exactly the reasons laid out in that thought process. If it hadn’t been consensual, then Jon wouldn’t have given in at any point, right? In fact, he hadn’t just “given in,” he had gone on to wrest control of the whole situation.

He had lost control of the situation.

Elias hadn’t attacked him. For someone as cool and collected as Elias to advance on Jon so passionately, Jon had to have been radiating how much he wanted that to happen from halfway across the Institute, even if Jon himself hadn’t known what he wanted.

Anyway, if Jon was not partly to blame, then that made him a victim, and that just would not do.

_“I should go,” Jon said shakily, coming to a stop halfway between the locked door and the desk where Elias Bouchard was bent in half._

_“Of course, Jon,” said Elias. “The choices you make are always your own.”_

_The distance between them felt larger than it was, as Jon first took shuffling half-steps toward Elias, and then seemed to find some semblance of self-confidence an arm’s length before reassuming his previous position between Elias’s spread ankles. Elias had not moved a muscle except to talk, softly with a voice that dripped honey and reassurance. Elias was clearly trying not to spook Jon with any sudden movements, as he said, “I am going to take my hands off this desk and place them behind my back.”_

_Jon was about to ask why, before he realized that his throat had gotten too dry to crack out a word easily. Elias crossed his wrists above his lower back, mirroring how he had held Jon in place less than twenty minutes before. “You are safe, Jon,” Elias said, showing his open palms. “You are in control.”_

_Drinking in the sight of how Elias presented himself like a gift for him (only him), Jon felt the heat rise up his body and darken his cheeks. Jon licked his lips. The whirring thing inside him that constantly analyzed even moments like this showed him that this was power, and that surprisingly he liked it. The memory that Elias had only just in the last hour tried to hurt him felt distant. Maybe Jon had gotten it all wrong._

_As Jon ghosted his hands over Elias’s back, Elias shivered despite the fact that Jon was not quite touching him. Then, when Jon settled his fingers a hair above Elias’s wrists, Jon frowned deeply and asked, “How do I know this isn’t some kind of trick? How do I know that as soon as I let my guard down you won’t just grab me and finish what you started?”_

_Jon could hear the smooth smile in Elias’s voice. “Jon,” he said, “this_ is _what I started.”_

Jon had gone too far. He’d let it go too far. He never should have let it get anywhere near that point in the first place. Clearly it was obvious that he had always found Elias attractive. Elias was a handsome older man, and that voice cut through Jon like he was warmed butter.

There were other things Jon liked about Elias, things that were more difficult to put into words. When Elias looked at Jon, Jon felt seen.

In the cold light of day, Jon’s desire for validation from Elias, seemed a lot more valid to Jon than whatever self-righteous fury he might have thought he felt when Elias first put his hands on him.

Jon had closed the door behind him before he sat in front of Elias’s desk, hadn’t he? Jon tried to remember if Elias had asked him to do that. No, Elias had invited him to come in and “have a break” with him. What had Jon expected to happen when he closed the door to the world? What business did Jon have sending signals like that?

So Jon had shut the door, and then he had stood to (almost) meet Elias’s height, and then he’d said, “What do you want?” That was what Jon had asked him. He asked him what he wanted, and then Elias had kissed him. Well, how many other ways were there to interpret that question, what with the vibes that Jon had apparently been giving off so openly for years? Stupid.

Jon sat back at the desk and scratched at his hairline with his thumbs. Maybe if he dug in he could find something like a brain. Maybe he could locate the part that was supposed to compute social cues, like flirting, hook it up to some jumper cables, and shock some life into that dead zone before it inevitably crash-landed him in circumstances like this all over again.

If that had been all that happened, Jon could have lived with it. Maybe it would have even been okay. Jon liked kissing, and he liked touch, and now he had picked apart the incident well enough to understand how he had gotten himself kissed and touched this time around. So … would it have really been so bad to start spending time with Elias, now that the ice had already been broken?

Jon imagined that the possibility was no longer on the table.

Jon had gone too far.

_“Then … could you stand up for me?” Jon asked faintly, all his rage from earlier dissipated. “Whatever it is you want me to try, I want to see you first.”_

_Elias straightened up, adjusting his cuffs when he turned to face Jon. “Of course, Jon,” he said in a hushed tone, “anything you need.” Then there were those eyes again. Jon couldn’t imagine anyone had ever looked at him like that before, almost with reverence. “You’re ready to trust me then?”_

_“I’m … curious,” Jon confessed._

_“Of course you are,” said Elias, sounding awed. Elias raised his hand where Jon could see it before slipping it through his hair. “I scared you,” Elias said woefully. “I came on too strong.”_

_“It’s okay,” Jon murmured, relishing the delicious scratch along his scalp. Was it okay? Yes. It must have been, or else why would Jon have said it was?_

_“I will always do whatever it takes to make you relax,” Elias promised._

_And then Elias’s mouth was claiming his, and, oh, Elias had been right—it was better if Jon just relaxed and went with it. Elias tasted like black coffee and red wine, and Jon lapped the flavors from his tongue as Elias licked past Jon’s lips. Elias huffed out a pleased laugh as Jon pressed against Elias’s chest with a small growl, fully coming alive and in agreement that he wanted nothing more in this moment than this. Elias rumbled low in his throat as Jon sucked Elias’s lower lip between his teeth, giving a cautious nip. Jon pushed forward, knocking Elias back against the desk._

_“Ah, there you are again,” Elias cooed, embracing Jon’s waist. “My Archivist.”_

_Jon ignored him, gripping up Elias’s back to alternately claw his hair and shoulders. Jon trailed crushing kisses beneath Elias’s chin and down his throat before biting at the dip where his neck met his chest. “That’s lovely,” Elias breathed. “I knew you had something vicious in there.”_

_Jon slowed, unsure at those words. But he rubbed his face against Elias’s cheek before bringing their noses to nudge together. When Jon spoke, it was directly onto Elias’s panting lips. “What did you want me to do?”_

_Elias smiled too sharply. “Take off my shirt,” he ordered._

_He asked me to do it,_ Jon thought frantically, alone in his office.

 _He didn’t ask you to take it so far,_ his mind hissed back treacherously. _People might like a little pain, nobody wants to be beaten until their skin splits …_

“Maybe some people do?” Jon tried aloud. He dropped his elbows to his desk and rubbed his eyes too hard. “He didn’t stop me …”

It didn’t matter.

Even if Elias did like it, it didn’t matter.

What mattered was that Jon felt like a monster for having loved it so much.

_As Jon unbuttoned Elias’s shirt, Elias left slow, methodical kisses around Jon’s forehead like a crown. On the last couple buttons, Jon tilted his head back and pressed his mouth up to Elias’s roughly. “Why?” Jon asked, as he slid Elias’s shirt past his shoulders to let fall at their feet. “Why would you want me to do this?”_

_Elias placed outstretched fingers on Jon’s thudding chest and cupped his chin with his other hand, dropping more kisses onto Jon’s greedy lips. “Maybe it’s just your luck,” Elias joked. “You’re the one I chose. And,” his voice settled into something more serious, “you’re the one I want.”_

_Elias reached between them and unbuckled his own belt, dragging it agonizingly slow through the loops of his trousers and folding it in half._

_“I have no idea how to do this,” Jon said quickly, shaking his head._

_Elias chuckled darkly. “Oh, Jon,” he said, “I have faith in everything you do.”_

_Jon glanced away, suddenly shy, before Elias tugged his chin back to face him directly. “We were all young once,” Elias teased. “I’m sure you’ve seen how it works from the receiving end, to less enjoyable effects.” Elias paused, brows knit together. “Ah, I forget how young you are. You never had to endure such things, that would have been more how your grandparents’ generation raised your parents.” Elias smiled innocently._

_Jon winced._

_Elias apparently failed to notice. He palmed the metal buckle alongside the other end of the belt in one hand and held it out thus. “Hold it like this,” he said, sounding dissonantly pedantic. “I would prefer you not use the buckle, so don’t let go of it.” Elias smirked._

_Jon couldn’t help but stare. This was new and interesting information, not that he ever would have thought he needed to know it._

_“Like so,” Elias instructed, slapping his opposite forearm with a crack and causing Jon to jump back. Elias laughed. “That only sounded like a lot,” he said. “You want to strike vertically parallel for that snap. Avoid this,” he added, as he demonstrated a weak hit using both sides of the looped belt. Then, Elias reached for Jon’s hand, and placed the belt firmly in it._

_“And leave my sides alone, Jon,” Elias added idly, as if they were discussing the weather. “You certainly won’t kill me if you bruise my vital organs”—Elias flashed a freakish grin, and Jon got the distinct impression that he was missing a joke—“but I won’t particularly care for it, either.”_

Jon reached over and massaged his sore arm. He was just about done beating himself up for the day about things he did not understand. He wanted to know how Elias was feeling, but he was too ashamed to ask. What were you supposed to do after you brutally beat someone with a belt for a solid hour, surely harder than they ever could have seen coming?

He would have to try to look up the answer to that later.

Just as he was wrapping up moping, Jon’s office phone rang. “Archives,” he grumbled into the line.

“My, my, Jon,” came Elias’s sultry voice on the other end, “we are going to have to have a talk about your phone skills.”

Jon shot straight in his seat. “Elias!”

 _“You hurt me very badly, Jon,”_ Elias said sadly, and Jon’s blood froze—“you didn’t even call.”

Jon stuttered out some indecipherable noises. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to hear from me,” he said in a quiet rush.

There was a pause on the line. “Afraid you got a bit heavy-handed with me, are you?”

“Well, yes?” Jon admitted.

“I see,” said Elias. There was a beat. “In that case, I would like you to know that I am more than willing to allow you to make it up to me.”

Jon had a lot of things on his mind, and much of it centered on how pretty a screaming man could be. “Really? I mean, are you sure?” he tested.

“You may come over tonight, if you wish,” Elias offered magnanimously. Then, softer: “I would love to have you.”

“Yes, absolutely,” Jon said.

In the back of his mind, Jon had the unpleasant tickling notion that somehow, he had been played.

At the moment, he very much did not care.

**Author's Note:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


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